imperfection
by Smeagolia
Summary: "We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin. President Coin was not assassinated and Snow's execution went as planned. Following his death is the ultimate punishment for the Capitol: The 76th Hunger Games. Follow the tragic story of Evalene Snow, her life, journey, and perspective.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you Lana for being my Beta! You've really improved the story. The beginning part in italics belongs to Suzanne Collins. I hope everyone enjoys my work, please leave your opinion in a review.**

_. . ._

_"I've asked you here today to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this_

_So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I have no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote," says Coin. "What has been proposed is that in a lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we will have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children most directly related to those who held the most power."_

_All seven of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna._

_"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin. _

. . .

When Katniss first won the 74th Hunger Games, when she won it for love, I must admit that she was my hero, of sorts. She was a flare of light in the gray fog that was the districts. After all, nothing exciting ever happened in the districts.

And what should happen? They had lost their privilege, and now serve only in the making of the luxury that the Capitol enjoys; those of the district lost what privilege they had when they sent the very first missile into Panem's center almost 80 years ago. The people who lived in the districts were simply the workers, providing those of us who lived in the Capitol with power and fabric and transportation.

In return, we ruled with a steady and just hand, protecting them from the dangers of countries far away.

Once a year, the Hunger Games were held, a source of excitement for us and a source of reminder for the districts. I tended to look away at the especially gory parts, but it's always fun rooting for your favorite tributes, gasping at your favorite outfits, and emptying your piggybank to sponsor them in the arena.

When the two tributes from District 12 made their very first appearance, I didn't expect them to be any different from any other tribute from 12, and neither did anyone else.

Then came their outfits. As soon as the fire burst from Katniss and Peeta's hair and clothes, everyone knew this Hunger Games would be different.

Next, of course, was Katniss' score of 11. Never in the history of the Hunger Games had a District 12 scored that high. How is that even possible? Everyone I spoke to was simply blown away, shocked that a girl from 12 had scored so high. It was all everyone would talk about; the Capitol was dying to figure out what she could have possibly done to earn that score.

But none of that compared to Peeta's confession that sent all the hopeless romantics of the Capitol running for a tissue. Star-crossed lovers. In a second he turned what was usually just an action show into a heart-wrenching romance. I nearly emptied my entire bank account trying to make sure that my two favorite tributes survived, but mother said I should save some.

The Games were amazing, probably the very best I've ever seen. I woke up early and went to bed late every day just to see the fate of everyone's favorite star-crossed lovers.

Even after it all, no one would have ever guessed how these Games would end. Everyone probably assumed it would be another broken love story, another disappointing ending.

Boy were we wrong. The moment Katniss pulled out those berries - pouring half the pile into her lover's hand and swearing she couldn't live without him - those two became a legend.

Katniss Everdeen won the hearts of Panem, or at least those of my seventh grade class.

Who couldn't worship her? She was strong, cunning, beautiful in a plain sort of way, unique, fresh, and in love. With the breathtakingly handsome Peeta Mellark by her side, they were unstoppable. Every other victor was forced to live in their shadow; the tributes from District 12 were the ultimate favorite.

As time wore on, various fan clubs formed throughout the school, but that wasn't the only thing with Katniss Everdeen's name on it.

Whispers, breathed through barely parted teeth, flew from ear to ear. Rebellion. Katniss. Bad. Katniss. Evil. Katniss. Dark Days. Katniss.

I wasn't sure what to think or where to look. I figured it wasn't my problem; every so often some random act of defiance from the districts would spike up, but my grandpa would extinguish it in no time.

Sometimes my grandpa seemed untouchable. He appears often on television, especially when the Hunger Games sweeps in. Despite that, his ever watching bodyguards and the labyrinth-like mansion he hides inside make him feel as far away as ever, almost like something unreal.

He invited me over a couple times a month to have tea with him or watch the Games, depending on the time of year. Sometimes he would ask me about school or friends or clothes.

Even though our conversations are casual for the most part, I always felt as if something divides us. Whether it is years or experience or whatever else it may be, I never felt like I truly knew President Snow.

What I did know was that he was strong. I looked up to him. After all, he had the fate of an entire country resting on his shoulders. It was not a job to be taken lightly.

And then came the Victory Tour. Grandpa invited me over to eat the delicate little cakes he knew were my favorite, because they made me feel like a princess from the old days, who lounged in beautiful gowns and ate beautiful things. We watched Katniss and Peeta's journey through Panem, commenting nonchalantly about her dresses and hair and many other interesting things concerning my two favorite victors.

I could feel the wall between us strong and hard. As I watched them speak, I heard people yell and guns go off before the cameras were knocked into darkness, and I knew something was brewing. Something with Katniss at its center.

_"Grandpa, can I ask you something?"_

_"Of course, my Evalene."_

_"Do the people of the __districts hate us in the Capitol?"_

_"No, darling, they need us, just as we need them. We are linked together by mutual need. Sometimes they forget that, is all."_

_"Okay."_

My worries were not completely soothed, though I knew my grandpa would fix it. The districts would soon come to their senses, I knew, seeing that the Capitol means no harm; we only strive for a better, stronger government.

I tried to forget the stony face of President Snow, how he seemed to grow new lines and wrinkles every time a district raised a fist against him. My oblivious friends and classmates continued to cheer and gush for Katniss Everdeen, as did the majority of the Capitol. I, on the other hand, began to see her in a new kind of light.

The Victory Tour ended with a magnificent party in the Capitol, right in the heart of my grandpa's mansion. I never technically receive and invitation, but I've made it a tradition of mine to watch the party from the top of the stairs.

Katniss and Peeta entered side-by-side, hand in hand. I almost forgot my fears and suspicions in my excitement of seeing them in person. Almost.

The twist in the 3rd Quarter Quell came a surprise for everyone, myself included. It turned out Katniss and Peeta's role in the Games was not over yet.

With the world indulged in the most exciting Hunger Games in my life, most people quickly forgot about rebellion, or, at least in the Capitol, they did.

I was being silly – why would Katniss want to overthrow my grandpa? It's not like the Games were actually a big deal; they were just a little entertainment that everyone enjoyed. Besides, who didn't want to be an instant celebrity? I wouldn't survive a minute out there, but the fame seemed like fun. I just wanted everyone to forget everything and enjoy the Games.

Caught up in the love story of the century, I was oblivious to my grandpa's twitching jaw and hard eyes. I should have seen the signs. I didn't realize what was going on until it was too late.

That was when the arrow flew.

That was when my life changed forever.

I'm from the Capitol. Life is supposed to be perfect here. It's a land full of colors, smiles, and excitement. Before the arrow that changed it all – ruined it all – was let loose, I could almost pretend I was royalty without the delicate little cakes.

Now, though, it's all gone. I'm a princess pushed from her throne, left alone to untangle the skirts that suffocated me, pry off the crown that dug into my flesh, to wrench off the slippers that held me when I tried to run for safety.

The Capitol made no attempts to keep the bombing of District 12 off the press. Soon after that came the rebellions.

I'd never been so confused and scared in my life. As the granddaughter of President Snow, I was warned that I could be a key target for the rebels. My family was forced into hiding, for our own protection, according to the men who guarded us.

Days, weeks, I spent in a small apartment in the lowest level of the basement of my grandpa's mansion. A television was the only thing that connected us to the outside world.

Before then I never knew real hate. Now I do. Burning, fiery hate that clouded my vision and made red spots dance before my eyes.

I hated Katniss Everdeen. She ruined my life. I knew it was horrible, but I wanted her to die. If she died, this would all be over. I could go back to my normal life, a life with friends, shopping, school, laughs, hugs, crushes, and everything that was normal.

Eventually someone came to get us. I recognized her immediately from the news. Alma Coin. Her words were harsh and cold, just like the rest of her.

"Coriolanus Snow's execution is in ten minutes. Please follow me."

Rebel soldiers with rough hands and horrible sneers escorted us aboveground. The sun was bright and hot, and made my eyes burn and sting.

My mother, father, and I were given front row seats. Coin, whom I refuse to call the president, held up a white rose, the kind that my grandpa loved.

My eyes blurred with a cruel mixture of hatred, fear, and grief.

Coin made her speech, declaring that the oppressive reign of the Capitol is now over, and we would all begin again with a new, fairer government. People cheered, and I had to bite my tongue until it bled to stop myself from screaming in fury.

My eyes turned away from her wretched face and the steely smirk that she fought to hide, and instead focused on President Snow, my grandfather.

I will always think of him a president, as long as I live. I feel silent tears slip down my cheeks and land on my shaking hands.

My grandpa and I weren't the closest of people, but I pride myself in saying that he loved me. I loved him too.

Our eyes met. In that one moment, that split second, I felt closer to my grandpa then I ever did before. The wall broke down before my eyes. I could see the fear in his eyes, and I ached to run to him and give him one last goodbye hug. I couldn't remember the last time I hugged him.

The connection was over as soon as it came, and Coin tucked the white rose carefully in his jacket pocket.

I prayed she would prick her finger, but unfortunately she moved surely and nimbly, as if she had practiced over and over for this moment. She stood back, raising her hands to the crowd.

"With the death of Coriolanus Snow, we bring an era of liberty and justice. Katniss Everdeen, please shoot."

I closed my eyes, not wanting to witness my grandpa's death. The world fell silent, and for a moment I thought that if I opened my eyes I would wake up in my bed at home.

My mother would come in, smiling and happy. I would dress and go to school, where I would talk to my friends about things that don't matter.

After school I would go to my grandpa's mansion, where we would share tea and cakes, and he would be alive and ruler of Panem. There would be no rebels, no Alma Coin, and certainly no Katniss Everdeen.

The sound of a bowstring being drawn back seemed to echo around the square. There was a twang and then the whistling of an arrow. The gory _thunk_ that followed would haunt me forever in my dreams.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, the heels of my palms pushed up against my eyelids. The cheering and whoops of joy swelled up around me, sickening me.

The bile rose up into my throat and spilled out my mouth before I could stop it, covering my chest. I felt no comforting hands on my back to settle me. No one cared about my grief. Coin began speaking again.

"Before we fabricate our new nation, I think we can all agree that there are some punishments that must be dealt out. There has been too much suffering in the districts for justice to go uncalled for. I am proud to announce that the last Games, the 76th Hunger Games, the very last of its kind, will use children of the Capitol, most specifically, the ones most closely related to those who held positions of the most power."

She paused, letting the news soak in. I squeezed my eyes tighter, her words throbbing like a drum through my head. I was having troubles thinking, and the foul smell of throw up was not any help. It was all a jumble of broken phrases.

Hunger Games

Capitol

Punishment

"The Reaping will be tomorrow morning at 10:00 sharp. Every Capitol child between the ages of twelve and eighteen is expected to make their appearance at the Grand Square. Anyone who does not will be whipped. The children who will participate as tributes will be announced and taken to the Training Center. The rules will remain the same as usual." Coin turned briskly to leave, but stopped mid-step and turned back to the excited crowd. "And, of course, may the odds be ever in you favor." She said with some sick version of a smile.

I sat rooted to my seat as Coin marched back inside the mansion. I searched for Katniss, but she seemed to have disappeared.

A glance towards the pole where my grandpa was tied for execution told me that his body has been taken away.

Cheers and sobs swirled around me, but all I hear is the cheering. People were happy. Happy that President Snow is dead, happy that there will be another Hunger Games. The square begins to empty, but I stay rooted to the spot.

Hunger Games

Capitol

Punishment

I hear a cry of anguish from somewhere far away, and I hear it as if through water.

People glance at me curiously as they pass, and I realize the cry came from me. I'd just realized what Coin meant. It hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

I am going into the 76th Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

"Please eat something, Evalene, anything! You've got to – to keep your strength up if you're going – "My mother broke off with a sob and thrust the plate towards me violently. I only stared at her as she turned and fled the room in a flurry of tears.

The last couple hours, I have been unable to feel anything except a strange numbness.

I _should_ be crying, screaming, and tearing my hair out, begging someone to save me. Instead I lay on my bed, staring absently at the ceiling.

After my mother had pried me from my chair at the execution, I was able to walk the short distance to our home, though it no longer felt like much of a home, not after all those weeks in my grandpa's basement.

The bright candy floss pink exterior of the house hurt my eyes, and the exotic flowers that grew in the front garden had all died off from lack of care.

Poor flowers. They too were fallen princesses, once lovely and colorful, now limp and wilted.

Because of all of the rebel activity, many Capitolites had to evacuate their homes, and many found themselves on the street without a place to stay.

A mandate went out from President Snow, before the rebels killed him of course, stating that everyone must share housing with a certain amount of homeless. I wasn't there, when the mandate was issued, but Father says a family stayed at our house while we were in hiding.

I know what my grandpa did was for the best, and I'm proud that he strives to help our citizens' happiness and well-being even when he had the rebels to tackle.

But the fact that someone else had been living in my house and sleeping in my bed made it seem even less like home. It might have been a hotel, for all the familiarity I felt living here.

The kitchen smelt strange, like food had been left out too long. When I lived here it had never smelt like that.

The couch in living room had a stain that wasn't there before, and I imagined some slob with four chins dripping sauce all over my house.

The whole place obviously hadn't been vacuumed in a while, and that annoyed me vastly. Strangers stayed here, and used my kitchen and bathroom and bedroom, yet didn't even bother to keep the place in shape.

Since I got "home" I've been staring into space, trying to wrap my head around my future of doom.

At least my room hadn't changed. For my tenth birthday my parents let me redecorate it however I wanted. Even now, four years later, I love the stained glass window, which filters a million colors into the room, making me feel like I'm in a kaleidoscope, full of color and magic.

My whole life had been a whirlwind of color and magic. Up until now, that is.

I'm not exactly sure how I feel about the Games. Part of me is angry.

Why do I have to go into the Hunger Games? I'm not a part of this war at all! I'm just a random Capitol girl, and it's not my fault that I happen to be related to President Snow, the man that I did not _choose _to be my grandpa.

Why drag me into this? I didn't tell the rebels to attack. I didn't tell anyone to do anything. It isn't not fair! What did I do to deserve this?

I wasn't the one who ordered the murder of all of those old victors. I wasn't the one who had allowed a war to happen. So why was I being punished for it?

Another part of me is scared. This was a death sentence, after all. I'm not strong, not particularly smart, not sneaky or fast or good at climbing or anything.

I might as well face the truth: I'm not coming out of this alive.

Who knows what's waiting for me in there? Now that I'm seeing the world through a tribute's eyes, the elements of the Games I once found exciting now terrified me.

A terrible death and lots of pain will be in my future soon enough, no doubt. Snarling mutts with fangs as long as my arm and towering tributes filled with bloodlust haunt my thoughts.

But the last part of me, the minuscule part that isn't devoted to fear or anger, is excited.

It's a very, very tiny part of me, but it's there. I'm excited. People will cheer for me, hopefully. I'll sport fabulous clothes. I'll meet Caesar Flickerman. I'll be _famous._

Maybe, just maybe, I'll feel like a princess again.

I lift a sandwich from the plate my mother nearly threw at me. Cucumber and cheese. I take a bite, and, surprisingly, it refreshes me. I shovel the rest into my mouth, nearly choking myself. I didn't realize how hungry I was, and the food clears my mind.

Before the war when things were actually normal my mother used to make me cucumber and cheese sandwiches when I was sick. I guess my state now counts as sick, in a way.

As I'm setting the plate on the side table by my bed my finger brushes something wet on the side. My mother's tears, not yet dried, have temporarily stained the side table with the salty liquid.

I know she's trying to stay strong – in front of me at least – and I feel bad for pushing her away. I've refused to talk or even look at anyone, and I know she's just trying to help. As her only child, I know this must be hard for her, and my father too.

Time seems to move both slowly and quickly. If I stared at the clock, each second seems to last an hour. But if I look away, even for what seems like a second, when I look back an hour has passed.

It was almost sunset when I decided I could no longer take this, laying here and counting down the minutes until I die.

I put on my shoes slowly, choosing the ones I wear carefully.

I settle on my favorites; silver three-inch heels with flower designs twisting up the sides. Along the back of the heel protrudes a semicircle meant to look like the sun. They were the fashion right before the war, back when the most important issue was grade and cute boys.

On the way to the bedroom door my heel caught on the rug, and I shrieked as I fell. I land on my ankle, which promptly begins to throb. I shriek again, just for the sake of it.

I pull off the stupid shoes and throw them under my bed, shrieking as I toss them away from me. I stand up and shriek long and shrill as I walk a circle around the room to get some feel back into my ankle. Shrieking helps, in some strange, slightly twisted way.

"I'm taking a walk." I said simply as I passed my parents on my way to the front door, wearing my boring cherry-red flats with purple studs. They were so last year, but at least they wouldn't potentially get me killed.

I stroll aimlessly around the block, watching the sky darken around me. The sunset is mostly red tonight, like blood. It's almost like it can predict what bloodshed awaits me.

Though the walk was meant to calm me, it doesn't help. In fact, it makes my worries grow.

Rebel soldiers march down streets, guns rested on their shoulders. Any pedestrian who strays too long in one spot earns a suspicious glare from a soldier.

The towering buildings of crystal and stone that used to make me happy now seemed to be glowering at me. Even birds that have perched themselves in the branches of trees seem to stare me down.

I turned the corner just in time to see a woman pull her son back behind her, shutting her front door sharply. I pretended not to notice her watch me pass from her window. I could feel eyes on me from all sides, but no one approached me, which was unusual.

On normal days someone eager to make small talk with the President's granddaughter stopped me nearly every ten yards.

Now it seemed quite the opposite. They were probably afraid that any word with me would lead to a beating from a soldier.

What had the rebels done to my life?

The walk was obviously not helping, so I decided to turn around and head home. I took a slight detour and headed towards the President Snow's old mansion.

Directly to the left of the grand building is the entrance to his private gardens, where we often walked together. My heart hurt from the memories. I sped up; eager to leave my dead grandfather's home and gardens behind, when I heard voices from the garden entrance.

I ducked behind a large fountain that hadn't spouted water since the rebels attacked the Capitol. It's funny how they somehow manage to ruin even the tiniest things.

"I am correct in assuming that the arena is nearly complete?" I recognized the hostile tone of Alma Coin immediately. My fist clenched. It rubbed me the wrong way that the rebel leaders had moved into my grandpa's mansion after they won. Did they have no respect?

"Yes, it would have been done sooner, but you know how last minute the request was." I don't know the second voice, but I could tell that it's a man. I risk a peek, but a particularly large rose bush obscured my view.

"When the districts demand justice, there is no time to loose, Heavensbee." Coin says, and I can almost hear her smirk. She is proud of the rebellion she's pulled off. _Unjustly_ pulled off, I might add.

"I think you will be very pleased with what we've done. There certainty will be some surprises in store for our little tributes." Plutarch Heavensbee responded, clearly pleased with his work.

Surprises? What surprises? I silently beg him to continue, but unfortunately he doesn't elaborate.

"Good. Make sure to target Snow's granddaughter. She's his closest relative in the Games, and the districts are looking for some bloodshed." Coin's voice was loud in my ears.

Target Snow's granddaughter? _I_ was Snow's granddaughter! The anger from before clouded my mind. Why me? This wasn't my fault!

Preoccupied with my thoughts, I didn't notice when Coin and Heavensbee turned the corner and started walking towards my fountain.

I dived behind a shrub in the nick of time. My heart pounded as I watched their feet through the leaves.

"Did you hear something?" Coin murmured, stopping abruptly. My breath caught in my chest, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.

"No," Heavensbee replied, glancing around. "Come on inside and I'll show you what we've been working on."

I didn't move until the front door had closed securely behind them.

I don't remember the walk back home, but my heart thumped and sweat glistened on my forehead once I found myself back on my bed.

My eyelids felt like dead weight and all I wanted to do was sleep, but my brain was far too awake.

Fear and anger and that tiny bit of excitement swirled inside me like some vile potion.

Instead of trying to force myself asleep, I pulled an old fashion magazine from my side table and flipped through it absently.

My parents always let me pick out a gift for myself on the eve before each Hunger Games. For the Quarter Quell I decided to have my hair dyed to look like flames – Katniss' flames.

I think back to when my grandpa saw my choice of hairstyle, the look of annoyance obvious as he looked over me critically, a frown forming on his lips.

"_Flames, Evalene?"_

"_I'm rooting for Katniss."_

"_Are you now?"_

The distaste on his face was evident and clear, but I ignored it. I had loved my fiery hair.

Now, looking into the mirror that hung on the wall across the room, I hated it.

I would not root for Katniss this time.

I found my parents in their bedroom, my father cradling my mother's head on his shoulder. Both of them sported puffy red eyes.

"Mother? Father?" I whispered, afraid to break the silence.

"What is it, Evalene, is everything alright?" My father asked, looking up in concern. My mother sat up, wiping her eyes on her nightgown.

"I know it's late, but I was wondering if maybe we could all go get our hair done. Just to do one last thing as a family before…" I couldn't finish. They all knew how it would end anyways.

My mother brightened at the idea, but her eyes were still brimmed with tears. "That would be lovely, dear. Let your father and I get dressed and then we'll go, okay, sweetie?"

She stood and wrapped her arms around me tightly. I breathed in the fresh flowery smell of her gold-tinted skin and sighed.

I would miss my parents.

An hour later the three of us sat side by side at the hair salon.

The overpowering smell of hair spray calmed me down. It almost felt like old times again. The hairdresser, Michaela, smiled widely when she saw me.

"Evalene Snow! You haven't been around in a while," She commented as she clipped an apron around my neck and promptly began massaging shampoo into my thick curls.

I was relieved that she didn't mention the Games, though I was positive that they were on her mind. I could tell from the stiffness of her skilled hands and the way she kept glancing towards the door as if she expected rebel soldiers to come take her away to the whipping post any second.

My mother broke the heavy silence that followed by holding up a color palette. "What are you getting, Evalene?"

I spoke without a moment's hesitation.

"Blue. Blue like water."

What better way to oppose the Girl on Fire?


	3. Chapter 3

I ran my fingers through my hair one last time. I was a little too pleased with it, really.

It was long and straight, hanging down to my waist. Michelle had dyed it a deep blue and added special components that made it shimmer and sparkle in the sunlight – not unlike the sun reflecting off the water. It almost looked like a waterfall was spilling off my head. But the most important part of all was that it was obvious what the color was supposed to mimic, and that's what mattered most to me.

Everyone, Katniss Everdeen and Coin most of all, must know that I am strongly against the districts. They shouldn't be allowed to rip me from my life and home, the place I've lived in all my life.

I gazed sadly around my bedroom, knowing this would be the last time I would see it. Suddenly all it's little quirks became dear to me, along with all the memories I would leave behind forever.

I run my fingers over little stain on my dresser where I once spilled the nail polish remover. It was when I was talking to my so-called friend on the phone when she accidentally slipped that she had had a birthday the week before – one that I hadn't been invited to. In my anger and surprise I knocked over the nail polish remover bottle, permanently tainting the dresser.

Then there was the closet door that never completely closed, due to the stick of lip-gloss I'd manage to wedge in the little space between the door and the floor. Clary and I were trying to see who could fit lip-gloss into the tightest space. I won.

I remembered the first time Clary came over for a sleepover, and I forgot to tell her about the loose screen on my window. She woke me up in the middle of the night screaming that someone was rattling the screen and trying to break in. The screen had been replaced last year, but I almost wish it hadn't so I could hear it rattle on last time.

I heard my mother calling me to come to the front door, drawing me out of my reverie.

"Evalene! We need to go!" The urgency in my mother's voice was obvious. Coin's threat of a whipping was still fresh in everyone's mind, I suppose.

I make my way slowly down the stairs, reliving memory after memory as I go.

There's the couch with the stitch in the side. The first time I was left home alone I decided to jump on the couch, something my parents never allowed me to do. Unfortunately I jumped a little _too _hard and ripped the seam. How was I supposed to know it was an antique?

And the little blue spot on the banister, the one that no one knew how it got there. It had been there as long as anyone could remember, and no amount of cleaner could get it off.

I met finally my parents at the front door, and I was suddenly eager to get away from this house and all the memories that were held here.

My parents' eyes were swollen from crying and lack of sleep, but they tried to cover most of it up with powder and makeup.

They embrace me silently. I bury my face in my father's shirt and feel my mother run her hand over my head. Wrapped up in their arms, I almost feel like everything will be okay. These arms will protect me and keep me safe. No one will hurt me.

"I love you." I whisper, and we draw apart.

"We love you too." My father replies, tears glistening in his eyes.

The walk to the Grand Square is too short. A rebel soldier steered me into a long line of Capitol children, all between the ages of 12 and 18.

The Capitol is bright as always, the sun glinting off the candy colored buildings and sweeping architecture. The people are the same too, with their beautiful plumage and interesting outfits. I noticed Mrs. Humfrey had finally gotten that nose job she wanted, and the girl from across the street had finally realized black was no longer in fashion.

It hurt, how normal everything seemed. Everything, that is, except for the rebel soldiers and long faces.

I stood up on my tiptoes to see above the many elaborate and colorful hairstyles in front of me. A woman, with an emotionless face and plain brown clothes, probably from the districts, sat at a table at the head of my line.

A girl with green tattoos on her chin stepped up to the woman and held out a hand. The woman takes her hand and nicks the tender skin on the pad of her finger. The girl's finger is pressed to a piece of paper, where her fingerprint is recorded.

It's all for show, of course. The districts have already chosen who will compete. The children most closely related to those who held the most power. I needed no one to tell me I would be among them. This was all simply for ceremonial purposes.

The line shortened until the cold woman was gesturing for me to come forward. I put out my hand hesitantly, not liking the look of the needle. The sharp point pierced my skin and I was forced to look away as the ruby droplets oozed to the surface.

I would not last a second in that arena if a tiny prick made me squeamish.

I was steered by harsh looking soldiers to the line for fourteen-year-old girls, where I would await my irrefutable death sentence.

The girl nearest to me, a slim little thing with brown pigtails and a dress like a big purple bubble around her body (totally last year) was crying loudly into her hands. I'd seen her around school before, but I'd never talked to her. I wondered if she would be chosen.

The parents of the Capitol stood watching from the outskirts of the square. Most, like my own parents, had puffy red eyes from a night of tears. No one was smiling or laughing, and people here and there were crying, including the little girl in front of me.

I shot a soldier an ugly look. _They_ did this to these people. The Capitol is supposed to be a happy place, not _this _place of horrors and tears.

We had to wait a good half hour until Coin finally made her appearance. She climbed the steps to the stage with a smug look on her face that made me want to smack her.

The eight living victors followed her, none looking much too happy. I recognized them all: Haymitch, Johanna, Annie, Enobaria, Beetee, Peeta, and, of course, Katniss Everdeen. I glared at her as hard as I could.

"Welcome, citizens of the Capitol," Coin began, smiling down at the frightened faces below her, "to the 76th Hunger Games. As punishment for the years of cruelty towards the districts of Panem, these Games will have a special twist –"

A loud shout rang through the Square and Coin cut off abruptly. Three soldiers dragged the boy who called out, maybe a little older than me, to the stage. His bright green eyes were wild.

"Down with the districts! They're going d – "A soldier shoved a cloth into the boy's mouth and his voice was muffled.

As he was pulled away, the boy seemed to look right at me, and his words echoed through my head like an eerie chant.

_Down with the districts._

He was taken inside a building, and I thought I could hear screams, but it could have very well been my imagination.

I am entirely certain, though that the screams are not just my imagination; that boy, that dumb rebellious boy, will not be coming back out alive.

Anger and fear twisted inside of me at the thought, giving birth to an unnamed emotion. This is what would happen to anyone who stood up for the rights of the Capitol.

_Down with the districts._

_Down with the districts._

_Down with the districts._

They deserved to go down. They should go down.

They would go down.

I would make sure of that. The districts had their girl on fire, but I was water. And water puts fire out like it was never even there.

…

Coin finished her speech with a cruel mimic of a Capitol accent. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favor." She lilted, and a couple of the victors chuckled.

No doubt, those were the ones who supported this last Game. They probably begged for it, insisting that they deserved revenge for their fallen friends.

As if that makes them any less a murderer.

Katniss had remained silent the whole time, her mouth a hard line. I stared hard and long at her, daring her to meet my gaze, but she seemed to purposely avoid it.

Was she ashamed? She should be; Katniss, more than anyone else, is responsible for all of this. She is responsible for my grandfather's death, and that of so many others. She will be responsible for my own death, and if she doesn't feel guilty, then I hope her death is painful.

I flipped my waterfall of hair over my shoulder haughtily, determined not to let Katniss' presence affect me any more than it has, and I turn back to Coin.

Coin gestured for Katniss to step forward. On either end of the stage were two giant glass Reaping balls, on for boys and for girls, each filled with twelve names.

In a usual Hunger Games, only one name is drawn from each ball, but today will be different. As the tributes have already been selected beforehand, every single slip of paper will be pulled and read.

Every name will be called out-every child will wait, fists clenched and tears in their eyes, until the moment that Katniss calls out their name. And then, the whole world will end.

"Ladies first," Katniss monotones. I guess it's supposed to be a joke of some sort, to mock the Capitol, because some of the victors smirk. Katniss' face, however, remains blank as she reaches into the girls' glass ball and pulls out the top name.

"Quintessa Beautart!" She called, and I could see the slight twitch of a muscle by her eye. Maybe she does feel some regret. She of all people knows how we feel – except that the districts deserved it. They are the ones who rebelled against us - twice - but now we are the ones being punished for their disobedience.

The short girl with pigtails in front of me – Quintessa I assumed – began bawling, tears running down her cheeks and chin. Nevertheless, she stepped forward and made her way painstakingly to the stage. I wondered to whom she was related to.

"Clarissy Marone!"

"Theresabelle Hart!"

On and on it went. Name after name. Soon nine girls stood on the stage, most with damp eyes and quivering lips. A couple attempted to look fierce and somber, but I could see the fear in their eyes.

Katniss reached into the ball and picked up one of the three remaining slips. The world seemed to fall into slow motion, as she lifted a slip from its neighbors. She held it to her face to read, and an eternity passed before she spoke.

"Evalene Snow!"

Every eye in the Square turned to look at me. I was the name everyone had been waiting for, the main event of the show. I felt their gazes – Katniss', Coin's, the victors', my parents, the Capitol's – like needles, pricking my very being.

I wanted to turn and run back home, to hide under my fluffy duvet and escape this cruel world, but my feet moved me forward. Step by step by step I made my way to the stage.

Though it wasn't very far away at all, now it seemed to be miles away. The more I walked, the farther away it seemed to get. The eyes of people watching burned holes into my skin.

I took my place to the left of the last girl called, and the mock Reaping continued.

Names were called, fates were sealed. Most of these girls beside me would be dead at the end of the first day. I wondered who, wondered if it would be my own hand that ended their life.

After Katniss pulled the last slip from the girls' glass ball she stepped back in line with the other victors and Peeta moved towards the other glass ball.

I could still feel the majority of the Square's eyes on me. I also knew that the districts were watching my every move on TV. I knew that anything and everything I do now will affect the sponsors I get in the arena. Because of this I attempt to remain calm and collected, my face free of any fear or anger.

I make a point of playing with my blue hair. I wonder if anyone's noticed it and put two and two together. I wonder if anyone's realized that I'm rebelling against the districts.

_Down with the districts._

Once twenty-four children stood in a line, over half of which were crying their eyes out, the rest standing in stony silence, Coin made a last speech, rambling on about how we should be _honored. _I could feel the crowd below me all thinking in unison.

_Down with the districts._

Coin finished with flourish, and the Capitol cheered for its tributes. To someone in the districts, someone who didn't know these people, the whoops and claps would look sincere.

I knew better. Behind the smiles I could see dark scowls. Behind the cheers were angry snarls, calling for change.

My fellow tributes and I were led from the stage in a single file line by a pack of rebel soldiers.

The soldiers reminded me of wolves, gripping their weapons with clawed hands and growling at anyone who stepped out of line. They were wolves, and we were their prey. Apparently wolves enjoy playing with their food before they ate it.

I hope they choked.


	4. Chapter 4

The soldiers moved with great haste, pushing us up and down the street towards the Remake Center with not even a chance to tell our loved ones goodbye. Apparently, the districts were eager for bloodshed and vengeance, a fact that showed in how roughly the soldiers put their hands on me, and how little they seemed to care if I tripped.

I was pushed into a sterile white room with a metal table in the middle and a counter along the back wall, covered with intimidating metal tools. I examined their serrated edges and shuddered at the thought of them biting into my flesh.

I was suddenly reminded of the time a couple years ago when my mother went for surgery, and for some odd reason I'd insisted on tagging along. I cringed at the memory of tools similar to these cutting into my mother's skin and reshaping her body. Luckily I hadn't been able to watch more than a few minutes of the procedure before I was escorted out of the room.

Back in the present, I continued to look over the room. There was no one inside save myself. I turned to ask the soldier where my prep team and stylist were, but I was answered with only a door slammed in my face. _God, how rude. _

I felt surprisingly calm considering I was about to be prepared for slaughter without a chance to tell my parents goodbye. It bothered me that I wasn't upset, but no matter how many times I repeated to myself that I was going to be murdered, no tears seemed to want to come forth.

I paced the room as I waiting for my prep team, reminding myself of a caged animal at the Capitol Zoo. I suddenly sympathized with those animals, who, like me, were forever in captivity, existing only with the sole purpose to entertain.

At least I would be rewarded with a beautiful costume. My favorite part of the annual Hunger Games has always been the elaborate garments in arrays of beautiful colors and textures. If I was lucky I might even get a glittery one.

I was fantasizing about what my Opening Ceremony outfit might look like when the door erupted open, and three strangers came barging in without even bothering to knock.

I felt panic clench my chest at the sight of them and I glanced around, wondering if this was some type of sick joke.

I had been expecting _Capitol_ stylists, beauty professionals who would know what they are doing. Instead I was greeted by the jeering grins of three _district_ women.

They wore stark white lab coats, their dull hair pulled up in limp ponytails. They laughed at my shocked expression, and I felt myself cower backwards against the wall. Their laughter reminded me of witches from a fairytale, their heads tipped back and their teeth bared. All they needed was brooms and pointed hats to complete the look.

The tallest regained control first and shot me a sickly sweet smile that made me want to gag. She looked at me like I was some sort of frightened puppy, and she patted her knee to coax me forward.

"You must be our lovely tribute! Evalene Snow, it is?" She spat the word 'tribute' from her mouth the way someone might say 'victim.'

"Yes…" I responded warily, eyeing the other two women, who were prowling closer.

"Let's just get through this quickly, shall we? I know you're probably _ever_ so eager to see your costume!" The tallest cooed, and the others tittered behind their hands. I grimaced, but reluctantly agreed. I wanted to get this over with a quickly as possible.

I was forced to change out of my clothes and into a scratchy paper hospital gown. I bit my lip as I watched one of my torturers take my fancy white dress away, and I knew I would most likely never see it again.

One woman, this one with brown hair that reminded me of dirt, offered to help me up onto the metal table, but I declined sharply. I didn't want these people touching me anymore than they had to.

I was instructed to lie down, and I could feel the icy steel through my thin gown, making me shiver involuntarily.

Tall, as I'd mentally begun calling the tall woman, picked up a scissor-like tool and tapped her chin thoughtfully. Dirt Hair, the one who had offered to help me, began rummaging through a cupboard. Another wave of fear rippled through my body and down my spine. Did they have any experience at all?

The third woman, whom I called Acne, because of her terrible case of pimples, pulled a tub of green slime from a cupboard and promptly began slathering it on my legs. I recognized it as waxing slime, and I released a breath I didn't even realize I had been holding in. At least Acne seemed to vaguely know what to do.

Tall lifted a pair of enormous shears and directed the point towards my hair. "Would our little tribute look good with short hair?" She asked, smiling with malevolent sweetness.

I gasped and jerked away. I felt my stomach lurch as I tipped off the edge of the table and landed sprawled on the floor.

"No – _please._" I begged, hating how panicked my voice sounded in my ears. I couldn't let them think they could push me around.

Acne cackled, clutching her stomach as she howled, and Dirt Hair soon joined in. Tall set the scissors down, her face twisting into an expression of fake concern.

"It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you! I was only joking." She almost looked hurt that I didn't understand her sense of humor, but I could see the laughter in her eyes. They enjoyed seeing me upset.

I sucked in a rattling breath and got to my feet. "I'm sorry," I said innocently, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. "I'm just not used to the districts' _hilarious _jokes."

Tall's lip curled slightly, and I felt a pang of satisfaction. Apparently they didn't appreciate my sarcasm very much.

I could tell the team was a little disappointed with the lack of work I needed. My skin was already clear and smooth, my hair in mint condition, my eyebrows waxed to perfection.

Finally they gave up on their search for flaws and retreated back through the door, leaving me alone once more.

I waited anxiously for my stylist, no longer excited to see my costume. Considering the fashion experience of the districts, I'd probably end up being dressed in a potato sack.

Finally the door opened again, and none other than Enobaria stepped inside, slamming the door violently behind her.

She grinned wickedly at me, and her pointed teeth flashed. I felt myself stumbling backwards until my back bumped against the wall.

"What –" I gasped. Of all the living victors, Enobaria scared me most of all. Her weapon in the arena had been _her teeth. _Who wouldn't be scared of her? She was more animal than human and only a madman would be dumb enough to _not _be afraid of her.

Enobaria cocked her head to the side, and looked me over slowly. Her gaze made me feel exposed, like I was getting an x-ray, but instead of broken bones, she was searching for vulnerability and hidden secrets. Finally she straightened up, raising an eyebrow haughtily.

"I'm your stylist, of course! Now come, come, my darling. I'm going to make you look beautiful!" She cackled like she was sharing an inside joke with herself, and her maw opened so wide that I almost thought she would swallow me.

"Don't worry dear, your costume is simply _adorable!_" The way she sneered at me made it very clear that she did not think it would be at all adorable, and she was simply mocking the Capitol and its stylists.

I wrapped my arms around myself and eyed the eccentric woman in front of me. I glanced at the door she was standing in front of, and wondered if anyone would hear me if I screamed. My one comfort was that I knew she wouldn't _kill _me.

Hundreds of disticters were jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of my death, and there would be protests and bloodshed in the streets if someone found out I had been killed where no one could watch and cheer.

"So – when do I get to see this _adorable_ costume?" I asked, cringing mentally at the way my voice quavered. I wondered if she could smell fear. It didn't seem that far of a stretch, considering what a monster she was.

Enobaria grinned like a skull and opened the door. I twitched as I fought against my fight-and-flight instincts, which told me to run. Enobaria seemed to sense I was considering escape and quickly pulled a box in from the hallway, closing the door again with a sharp snap.

She reached into the box and pulled out what looked like a lumpy dress made out of brown paper. I flinched at the sight of it, how is sagged in all the wrong places, how it crinkled when she moved it, how the color belonged in a toilet instead of on a dress. It was so ugly it made me nauseous.

It was not until she turned it around so I can see the front of the dress that the bile actually did raise up my throat.

It was splattered with dried red liquid, which I pray wasn't real blood. Over the bodice of the dress was a little target, with the shaft of an arrow sticking out of the middle, right where my heart would be.

Enobaria pulled a pair of manacles from the box and jingled them cheerfully in the air. I felt the room spin and the floor rippled under my feet. I was being dressed for slaughter.

Of course, I always was – I knew the parade was just a way to rally up the crowd before my bloody murder – but now it will actually look like it, with blood and gore splashed every which way.

I gagged as my stomach emptied itself onto the clean tile floors. It didn't land on the dress – unfortunately.

"Oh, darling, let's not get sick right before the parade! Now come, come! You have a costume to get into." Enobaria cackled, her face contorted into a devilish smile. A dry sob wracked my body, and I wretched again.

My "stylist" waited impatiently for me to regain my bearings. I forced myself to straighten up and meet her gaze for the first time since she'd entered the room.

Her eyes were hazel; maybe the only pretty aspect of her. My eyes flitted downwards to her pointed fangs, and my stomach knotted again, this time with rage instead of fear.

_Down with the districts._

My hatred for the districts renewed, I was determined to wear that horrible dress with pride. They wouldn't bring me down. If they wanted me to cry and cower then I have some bad news for them. I'm a Capitol girl after all; a Snow, and we can make even the worst fashions look good.

I snatched the hideous thing from Enobaria's hands and let my crinkly hospital gown fall to the floor. I quickly pulled my horrific costume over my head and let it settle against my body.

The rough fabric felt as much like paper as it looked, and I could tell that soon my skin would be rubbed raw.

I touched the feathered end of the arrow sticking out of my dress. The arrow didn't actually cut through the dress, it was just made to look so, but I still felt a phantom throb over my heart. Maybe it was because of all those people willing me to die.

"Darling, you look absolutely divine! Let's put on your bracelets and take a look in the mirror, shall we?" Enobaria jeered, and snapped the manacles onto my wrists. I hissed through my teeth when she pinched a bit of skin, and I swear I saw her smirk.

Enobaria lifted a slender remote from the counter and jabbed a button with her clawed finger. A section of the wall slid open, revealing a large mirror. She smiled at my reflection and gave me a little push, urging me to admire my outfit.

The person in the mirror frightened me. My shoulders sagged and my arms hung low and weak under the weight of the heavy manacles. The baggy dress made me look sickly skinny, like I'd been starved and without sunlight. There were dark smudges under my eyes that I don't remember seeing this morning. I looked defeated, like a prisoner, and I felt pathetic.

Enobaria stood behind me, tapping her chin and making tiny "hmm" noises to herself. Finally she smiled, her face lighting up like a starving animal's does when it stumbles upon an easy prey.

"I know what we need –" She growled, and lunged forward.

Her hand came out of nowhere, striking me across the face and jerking my head painfully to the side. I cried out, my eyes tearing over as lights flashed in my line of sight, and my cheek felt on fire.

I touched the welt tenderly with the pad of my finger, and I grimaced at the sting. Luckily there was no blood.

Enobaria grinned like a madman and chucked to herself, "You needed some flush in those pale cheeks of yours. Now come along _darling, _you're all ready for the parade."

I tried to stand straight and proud, but the energy that had earlier boosted me was drained from my system.

The weight of the Hunger Games was rested heavily on my shoulders, and I knew I had no choice but to follow Enobaria one step closer to my inevitable death.


End file.
